


vignettes on the art of subtlety

by deadmemewalking



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: 1960s AU, Alternate Universe - Historical, M/M, Strangers to Lovers, excessive flower language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2020-02-04 18:34:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18610171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadmemewalking/pseuds/deadmemewalking
Summary: The evolution of Merlin and Arthur's relationship as told in vignettes and Victorian flower language.





	vignettes on the art of subtlety

**Author's Note:**

> the meanings of all the flowers explained in end notes!

I.

 

Merlin is strolling through the manor gardens-- certainly not to avoid Gaius and skive off his duties-- when he sees, rounding the corner of purple lilacs, a fine gentleman emerge from Lord Uther Pendragon’s shiny black 1956 Spider, his crisp, pressed suit cutting a sharp silhouette from the blue sky.

And then the man turns. Everything else fades from Merlin’s notice except his dark, imperceptible eyes, burning into Merlin’s, sending shivers down his back. He feels tethered to that gaze, as if breaking it would have fatal consequences.

Then the other, more recognizable man marches behind this _someone_ , drawing him into step on the gravel road. Merlin ducks behind a particularly tall and round hedge, watching them climb the steps in perfect time, militaristic.

When the young man turns once to scan the ground, Merlin’s heart nearly pounds out of his chest, before the stranger disappears through the front door.

 

 

II.

 

Gwen finds him in the back garden shed shoveling out animal dung as punishment from Gaius for skiving, her apron still coated with flour and a basket of bread at her hip. Red glows in her dark cheeks, strands of curly hair cling to her flushed skin. 

“Oh Merlin! Such wonderful news I just heard in the kitchens!” 

“Have we got the next week off?”

“No, silly!” She giggles like she does when Lance-the-first-footman stares too long in her direction. “Lord Pendragon’s son Arthur has just returned from business overseas!” 

She tucks a small sprig of flowering basil from her basket behind his ear, then hurries off, one sleeve pressed over her nose.

 

 

III.

 

At mid-day, Merlin is mending the stable door, sweating under the bright sun, his hand aching from the strain, when Arthur Pendragon finds him, in all his golden-haired, crisp-suited glory. 

“Merlin, isn’t it?” 

The heat builds deep in his gut, something heavy and promising. “Yes, sir.” 

Arthur props one shoulder against the stable wall, hands in trouser pockets, the long line of his body loose and confident; Merlin watches through the corner of his eyes. He feels the blazing stare like a tingle down his neck. 

“Fancy a smoke?” Arthur pulls a white cigarette from his pocket, props it between his pink lips, pulls another one and offers it to Merlin. 

He takes the smoke, back pressed to wood, shoulder inches from Arthur’s, stealing glances of smoky exhales and the silver band on his right thumb. The smell of cigarette smoke mingles with that of the pink hyacinths crushed beneath their feet, and it lingers on Merlin’s clothing all day.

 

 

IV.

 

Merlin wakes with a start some time in the night, moonlight spilling through his open window and across his threadbare sheets where they tangle around his legs. He presses one hand to his heaving chest, feeling his heart jump under the skin. Nothing from his dreams linger, despite their being so vivid he can feel the realness of his body’s responses. He shucks off his sleep shift, revels in the cool breeze against his sweaty skin, and inhales its sweet, flowery scent.

 

 

V.

 

Gaius doesn’t allow Merlin near the hedges with anything sharp, which is why he trims them anyway. He spends too long arranging every branch and leaf to perfection, till the sun has arced halfway across the sky, and so witnesses Lord Pendragon and Arthur return from their day trip. 

He can see Lord Pendragon’s tweed-covered back, familiar from his observing the man prowl these gardens in thought, and Arthur across from him. Merlin does not, can not, catch the words of their conversation, not when Arthur’s gaze bores smoldering and dark into his own over Uther’s oblivious shoulder. 

Memories of last night’s _incident_ fill Merlin’s head like the onslaught of fragrance from Uther’s specially-bred coral roses, but he doesn’t glance away, despite the heat filling his cheeks. 

Then, Arthur tips his head a centimeter to the right, in silent invitation. Merlin nods once.

 

 

VI.

 

It’s almost supper time; even if Gaius doesn’t come looking for him, someone will certainly be expecting Arthur soon. 

Still, Merlin digs his fingers into the soft hair at the back of Arthur’s head, uses the leverage to tilt him how he wants. Arthur groans deep in his chest and pushes back, eager. 

They’re leaning up against the far side of the garden shed, shadowed by the roof’s overhang, but someone could still see them, if only they wandered to this side of the grounds. The thrill only serves to deepen the desire unfurling in his gut, and he moans into Arthur’s open mouth as he licks the back of Merlin’s teeth, careless. 

Merlin swings them around, and presses Arthur back against the shed. His mouth falls open, indignant, but belied by the spots of color high on his cheeks, and then Merlin drops to his knees. 

Everything almost goes too fast; Merlin doesn’t savor Arthur’s taste in his mouth in order to take him deeper, faster, while now Arthur grips Merlin’s hair, thrusting shallowly with his hips, and when Arthur throws his head back against the wall and moans so loud and deep, the haze of lust clears all other thought from Merlin’s mind. 

When Arthur comes down his throat, Merlin digs his fingers into the soft, leafy Earth, where sprigs of coriander sprout from the damp soil wetting his knees. They pant in time, while, distantly, a maid rings the bell for supper.

 

  

VII.

 

Merlin finds himself, as he has been wont to do for the past few weeks, with his back to some stone wall in a nook of the labyrinthine garden, his pants around his ankles and Arthur thrusting into him, rough and fast. Arthur’s broad hands grip his bare thighs where they wrap around his waist, supporting Merlin above the ground.

Just on the other side of the hedges, Uther tours his rotating group of investors about the grounds-- Merlin’s pride and joy, truly-- while his son fucks the keeper into oblivion. Arthur had excused himself from the company to take a message; that had been fifteen minutes ago. 

Somehow, Merlin always lets Arthur have his way, no matter how many compromising situations they land in and consequently have to escape. 

Arthur rolls his hips, slow and dirty, and Merlin has to bury his gasp in Arthur’s neck, careful not to bruise the skin, for his disheveled hair and crumpled, untucked clothing already create an image too obvious and detached from that of the perfect, proper heir. 

The voice draw louder and softer as Arthur drives them both towards their climaxes. Merlin teeters on the edge of it, and breathes in the heady, honey-sweet smell of sex and yellow acacia blossoms that spill over the top of the stone wall. Arthur takes Merlin in hand and jerks once, twice, and they both spiral over the edge.

 

 

VIII.

 

One month after starting this _endeavor_ with Arthur, Merlin finds a single pink peony-- plucked from his gardens, no doubt-- on top of his bed. 

Merlin’s chambers are tucked inside the servant’s quarters, and offset from Gaius’s; anyone who might want to leave him a-- _flower--_ would need to acquire the whereabouts of his room from some gossiping scullery maid, risking exposure. 

He asks Gaius for a vase that night, fills it with water, and keeps the flower beside his bed. Often, he catches himself gazing in its direction and smiling, then tamps down the urge.

 

 

IX.

 

One afternoon, Merlin takes Arthur in the backseat of Uther’s 1956 Spider. 

He had been scrubbing the car to perfection in the back lot-- chores inflicted by Gaius for turning up late and well-fucked to his stable duties, not that Merlin’s mentor knew of the latter-- when Arthur had strode up with a telltale glint in his eyes. 

As opposed to their usual locations, the leather seats are far more cramped and smell sharp and bitter, but when Merlin crams his nose into the hollow of Arthur’s throat, he can discern the dizzying sweetness of summer carnations. 

It’s his privilege, to have Arthur unravel beneath his hands, to feel his hot, tightness surrounding him, to hear him choke out “Merlin, please,” looking so wrecked and trusting; it’s a privilege he has no intentions of giving up, lest the world snatches it from his cold, lifeless fingertips.

 

 

X.

 

After spending the afternoon rolling around in the grass with Arthur, Merlin has to scurry through the manor’s main halls because Gaius’ wrath necessitates the use of dubious shortcuts. He passes a door pushed slightly ajar, and recognizes the voices within. 

“Arthur, what do you have to say for yourself? This sort of presentation is completely indecent.” 

(Arthur had taken Merlin apart with only those sinful lips and tongue, had drawn it out so long and so satisfying that the wet grass stained his trousers’ knees something filthy. 

“I pity the maid charged with washing your posh trousers tonight.” 

“Well, if she’s already scrubbing stains, what’s a few more?”) 

“I apologize, father. I simply had to… _admire_ the new yellow lilies.”  

Merlin has to smother a giggle with his palm at Arthur’s snark, hidden under layers of decorum, then dashes down the hall.

 

 

XI.

 

The third time in as many hours that Arthur has Merlin up against the wall in some hidden alcove, Merlin resigns himself to an unproductive day. The bundle of fresh thyme that he should be delivering to the kitchens is trapped between them as Arthur latches his lips to Merlin’s throat. 

Arthur grows bolder; Merlin can only give back as good as he gets, hoping to emerge with heart still intact. 

The thyme never does get delivered, but Arthur makes it up to him by sweet-talking the cook into clemency while Merlin escapes to the stables, unmistakable purples and blues blooming on his neck and jaw.

 

 

XII.

 

For once, Gaius has allowed Merlin to work inside the manor, waiting on guests at Uther’s annual banquet, having cleaned up well for once in a starched dress shirt and toe-pinching shoes, but the nuisance is worth the extra few pounds and the way Arthur’s eyes follow him all night. 

The round tables are laden with massive meat platters and towers of pies and pastries, interspersed with bouquets of bright marigolds that Gwen helped him assemble, a picture of far more excess than Merlin will ever experience in his life. Dark wine sloshes over the brim of every goblet, and as Merlin bends over beside Arthur’s chair to refill his, he brushes his arm once, twice, thrice against Arthur’s, smirking at the heat of his gaze on Merlin’s hands. 

Then, Uther speaks: “Arthur, several weeks have passed since your return; have you given any more thought to what I asked of-- what I mentioned to you?” 

Arthur doesn’t look up. “I’m not sure what you mean, father.” 

“Come now, you must remember.” He waves a hand about and swallows. “I’ve invited tonight several families of excellent status, several young ladies suitable for--” 

“ _Surely_ you don’t mean---” 

“--marriage.” 

Something clangs on the stone floor, the din of the party lulling for a beat before crescendoing again; Merlin distantly registers he has dropped his pitcher. “Oh,” he mutters.

 

 

XIII.

 

Merlin needs a clean break, for even the sight of the thorned rose bushes reminds him of every mistake he’s made in regards to one arrogant, brave, irresistible man. He allows himself one night to mourn, for what is a servant to the most eligible heir in all of England-- and maybe Arthur could never have been Merlin’s anyway.

 

 

XIV.

 

For five days, Merlin avoids every one of his and Arthur’s chosen spots, tends to the hedges only at suppertime, and spends most of the waking hours mending the stables. He only interacts at length with his unofficial favorite steed Kilgharrah, an old and moody Thoroughbred, and Gwen when she brings him leftover apple tarts. On the fifth day, he packages a pressed cyclamen from his and Gaius’s secret collection in parchment paper, and pleads Lance to deliver it to Arthur. For five days, Merlin pretends to forget and for five days, he cannot even stroll through the gardens, lest the memories crack open his chest and dig roots through his heart.

 

 

XV.

 

On the sixth day, when Merlin finally summons the heart to attend to his first beloved, Arthur corners him under the white garden arbor, where even the honeysuckle vines curling around the white arch and hanging over their heads can hide them from the manor’s plainest view. Arthur stands closer than he’s ever dared in a place this exposed, his eyes so defenseless Merlin doesn’t dare look away. 

Arthur opens his mouth but no words come forth, and only when Merlin starts to pull away do his hands come up to catch Merlin’s. “Merlin,” his face cracks with a despondent smile, “you great big girl, you _must_ know I wouldn’t allow-- only for you--.” He clasps between his and Merlin’s hands a single red tulip. 

Suddenly, Merlin understands. 

“Me too,” he whispers into the damp air just between them. 

Right there, beneath that flowered arch, for everyone to see, Arthur kisses him, deep and lasting, and the promise tastes sweeter than the smell of every blossom in the garden.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> purple lilac-- first feeling of love  
> basil-- good wishes  
> pink hyacinths-- playful  
> coral roses-- desire  
> coriander-- lust  
> yellow acacia-- secret love  
> peony-- bashful, happy  
> carnation (depending on color)-- aching heart, admiration  
> yellow lily-- gaiety  
> thyme-- courage  
> marigolds-- despair, jealousy  
> cyclamen-- resignation, good-bye  
> honeysuckle-- bonds of love  
> red tulip-- declaration of love


End file.
